


All As It Shall Be

by justanotherreader



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Carlos Backstory, Drugs, Drunk Carlos, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Racism, Tattooed Cecil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherreader/pseuds/justanotherreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Carlos Rodriguez has just been asked to step in as a science professor at Nightingvale University, by his dear mentor and savior who has fallen fatally ill with cancer. As Carlos sadly accepts the new role, he also inherits his predecessor's personal assistant: Cecil Palmer, an out-of-place, heavily tattooed journalism student who could use a savior of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my second WTNV fic! It's probably got some glaring errors that I've missed eighty times. Enjoy finding them all!

A wrinkly, slightly shaking hand picked up an obviously fingerprint covered black receiver sitting complacently on upon the glass top of a wooden desk and, with only a bit of difficulty, dialed in a phone number memorized in 2006. Three cities away, another phone rang. A dark, steady hand answered it immediately.

"Hello, Doctor Bettencourt! How lovely to hear from you. Yes, I'm well, thank you. How is Edith? And yourself?....Oh. Oh, god. I'm so sorry. Yes, of course. I'll drive over right now. It's not a- yes, tomorrow then. Yes. Okay. Rest well, doctor. I'll see you tomorrow. Tell Edith I said hello. Good day, sir."

Carlos sat down and ran a dark hand through his black hair. God almighty. Cancer. How he hated cancer. He'd lost his father and a brother to it. His sister had survived breast cancer, and a decent handful of friends were in the battling stages. He'd already seen one friend buried before her time.

But not Hector. Hector had saved Carlos. He'd been there to guide him through so much. It wasn't long ago, Carlos thought. Not so long since he'd felt like a failure. He was a Hispanic man with a degree and a brilliant mind, yet no job to speak of thanks to an ill-planned move from his home in Boston to Phoenix, where, according to the residents, his skin defined him more than his intelligence. They took one look at him and lowered him in their minds, kicked him to the curb when he walked in their direction.

If he'd just stayed in Boston, then maybe he wouldn't have turned to drinking himself stupid every night. But then how would he have met Hector? He wouldn’t have. No, Carlos had left Boston for the same reason he wanted to leave Phoenix: no jobs anywhere. Very few were accepted into MIT and Harvard, where he’d graduated. His own wouldn’t take him back! After being denied several positions he was more than qualified for, and a few high school biology positions that turned him down simply because the schools couldn’t pay him what he deserved, Carlos packed up two suitcases, put the rest of his possessions on the curb and jumped on a plane, falling asleep outside the familiarity of Logan and waking up in the heat of Phoenix.

He was ruffled and annoyed by the first four rejections. He was upset and cried after the seventh. The eighth led to purchasing more alcohol than was necessary and going through it all in three days. He showed up to the tenth and eleventh interviews drunk as a noodle. The cycle repeated from that moment on.

It was his twenty-third interview that did it. Carlos once again heard the overused empty promise of ‘we’ll call you’, and it threw him over the edge. No longer able to afford his dingy, rat-infested hotel room, and without a car, Carlos left yet another university seeking science dorks to teach and join research boards only to hire another white male just as qualified as himself. 

Enraged, Carlos tossed his leather briefcase, packed full of research, his three year thesis, documentation and photographs, into the nearest dumpster, tore his meticulously clean and wrinkle-free jacket from his torso and handed it to the first homeless man he saw. Then, with his last fifty dollars, marched into a liquor store, bought the largest bottle of Jack he could find and proceeded to drink it in public, swigging the sharp liquid from behind a stiff paper bag. 

Stumbling towards the Chase Tower, tallest in all of Phoenix, Carlos swore loudly in a mix of Spanish and English vehemently at anyone who dared look his way. Even the concerned old women walking their little dogs and feeding ducks watching this wreck of a brilliant young man were not immune to his furious verbal attacks.

One woman, a lovely older madam with white hair, stepped out of her way to ask the young man, in Spanish, if he was all right. Carlos roared back in English.

“I’m fucking fantastic! I’m great! I’m homeless and I’m gonna go kill myself, but yeah, I’m fucking wonderful! Thanks for asking, abuela!” Carlos proceeded to drink even more, now halfway through the bottle when an older gentleman, angered at the verbal treatment towards his wife, limped over on his polished cane and grabbed Carlos by the hair.

“How dare you speak to my Edith that way!” He tugged the black hair tightly.

“Lemme go,” Carlos bellowed, too drunk to free himself. “Leave me the fuck alone, old man!”

The old man did not let up. Instead, he snatched the bottle of Jack from Carlos’ hand, shoved the man down into the dirt and poured the remainder over his head. Carlos was too stunned to fight back. As his last fifty dollars poured over his head, through his hair and through his clothes, there was only one thing he could do.

The old man and his wife stepped back as Carlos began to sob into his shaking hands. This was what he’d become. An angry, alcoholic genius, sitting in a puddle of liquid comfort. God, he hated himself. He wanted nothing more than to run to the Chase and throw himself from the roof. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. People were watching from every angle, any one of them could tackle him down. In the near distance, a police siren wailed. He felt a chill run up his spine. Fearing arrest, Carlos rose to his feet shakily and began to walk away as nonchalantly as he could trick himself into thinking.

“Oh, no you don’t,” said the old man, grabbing Carlos’ arm. “Not after that. What’s your name, son?”

“Please. Just leave me alone,” Carlos slurred. “I ‘pologize for what I said to your wife. I need to go.”

“Just give me a name.” The man was patient, his tone steady. He knew the young man was suffering and wanted to do all he could to ease his pain.

Carlos groaned, ready to just die right there. “Carlos.”

“And what’s happened that led you to this moment, Carlos?”

“Stop. Please. I just need to go.”

The man shook his head, understanding what Carlos meant. “I’ve met many young people who claim they need to go. And they don’t need to go there. Tell me, please. Or I’ll have to call the cops and have you arrested to keep you safe. I’d rather not do that.”

“Please don’t,” Carlos groaned. “I just…I need to go. It’s important.”

“Suicide is not your answer,” the old man said. “It feels like the right thing at the time, but time passes, and situations change. All I ask is for you to talk about it.”

Carlos, soaked and angry, penniless and lost, closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He wanted to go home, see his family and just forget all the hard work he’d done for nothing. But he was far from home and loved ones. So he took a nervous breath, let the man and his wife walk him to a park bench and there he told his story. And from that moment evolved his new life, for the old man was no ordinary old man. He was Dr. Hector Bettencourt, Chairman of the Department of Scientific Studies at Nightingvale University, far from Phoenix and the racist community that shunned Carlos.

As the story concluded with Jack Daniels in his hair, the good Doctor requested to see Carlos’ work. They walked together towards the dumpster where years of incredible research waited to be disposed of, and he read through it in the air-conditioned comfort of a Starbucks while Edith and Carlos chatted in Spanish.

Hours later, Carlos had a job offer as a biology professor at Nightingvale U, and from there, he bought everything he deserved. A car. A condo. A fat, stupid mutt he named Barium (but she responded to Bari) he loved with all his heart. And, most importantly, a reason to put away the bottle and live life the way he always dreamed of.  
\----------------------

End Chapter One.


	2. Chapter 2

The following day, Carlos drove the easy breezy hour to the University, where Doctor Bettencourt waited in an office surrounded by prestigious plaques, degrees and framed newspaper clippings, photos of indigenous people he'd worked with, and the numerous people he'd mentored, Carlos included. Many photos of Edith and their daughters from all over the world and through the past seventy years filled every inch of wall. On his desk stood a lovely photo of himself, Edith and Carlos smiling widely in front of a mountain in Brazil, a trip they took together two years after Carlos met them.

Carlos politely knocked three times, then opened the door with a call. "Hello, Hector?"

"Carlos, my boy!" called the thin, breathy voice of a tired old man. "Please, come in."

Carlos obeyed gladly, and stepped into the room. It was large, as large as a small one bedroom apartment, and the only space not covered in memories were the brilliantly large, round windows. Carlos had many memories in this room, from learning the details of his various jobs, passing out on the couch after finals and helping Hector clean it (a long but fun bi-weekly affair). 

The two reunited with a strong hug and a handshake. They sat upon the old, familiar leather couches in the room and began the most serious discussion they’d ever had.

"I'm afraid I've been sick for quite some time,” Hector said, pausing to cough into a handkerchief. “I'm very stubborn, you know. But my cancer has gone to the point of no return. I'm going to die, Carlos."

Carlos felt his heart plummet into his stomach. "Hector, don't say that. You know how the mind can convince itself. "

"Such a smart lad.” Hector coughed into his handkerchief again and shivered. “Oh, dear. What a pain, sickness is. Caught a cold just last night.” He sniffled again and smiled. “Carlos, I called you here not to make you feel pity for me. I want you to take my job. You've earned it. You and I have been on an incredible journey together, but sadly, all journeys must end."

Carlos choked up and grabbed Hector’s wrinkled and papery hand. "Hector, I don't know if I can say goodbye. Ever. I just...you saved my life. I'd have let myself fall from the Chase Tower you hadn't been there to..."

"Let’s not dwell on death, my friend. That moment in your life has passed, as I told you it would.”

Carlos felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. He remembered that day so clearly. Not even being drunk and ready to die had clouded the memory. “You’re right. I’m sorry. What will happen to Edith?"

Hector sighed, then smiled weakly. "Our eldest daughter, Dorothy, has offered to take her in. Edith’s fit as a fiddle and possesses the mind of an elephant. Brilliant woman. She'll get to spend time with the grandchildren. She’s sad, but we have both come to terms with my illness. I know she will be safe and well-cared for."

Carlos wanted to add something positive about the woman who had become his surrogate mother, but a knock at the door took his attention. 

"Come in," Hector invited. 

A young man with purple hair, tired eyes and more tattoos than Carlos even thought possible on one body stepped inside carrying a heavy pile of books and loose papers. He wore a big grin and a dark grey t-shirt proclaiming his love for the Nightingvale U Radio Club.

"Good morning, Cecil," Hector beamed. "Carlos, meet Cecil. He's a journalism student from the communications department. He does an excellent radio show every Tuesday and Thursday. If you like, he might even interview you one night."

Carlos put on his best smile, stood and extended a hand to the journalist in training as he set down the books, but when Cecil looked at him, he dropped them with a sharp gasp. Carlos saw…well, he wasn’t sure what he saw. Fear? Surprise? It was unknowable. The smile was gone, replaced by the wide-eyed stab of mistrust.

"Oh. Oh, my god, I'm so sorry Hector," the young man squeaked as he forced his eyes away from Carlos and back to the fallen books. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” 

Hector frowned. "Is everything quite all right, Cecil?"

"Oh, uh. Yes Doctor. I, um." Cecil avoided eye contact with them both as he scrambled to pick everything up. He set them haphazardly upon the desk and stepped away. "Do you...do you need anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"I-no, thank you.” Hector looked concerned. “I'll call you if I do. Thank you, Cecil."

“No problem, Doctor.” The journalism student exited the room quickly, not daring to look at Carlos. When the door closed behind him, Hector said grimly, "I wonder what that was all about. He's usually so well put together."

"He didn't seem to like me at all," Carlos contributed. A nasty thought filled his mind. "Is he racist?"

Hector shook his head. "His best friend is another journalism student…Dana. She was born and raised in Afghanistan. His friend Steve is Nigerian. I don't think it’s racism, it must be something else. Maybe you remind him of someone. I'll ask him later."

"Why was he here? I mean, he's not a science major."

"Last minute job hire," Hector explained. "The jobs he wanted were taken. He started school late...he's 25. I posted a need for an on-campus assistance program, and he responded immediately. He'd worked in several service jobs already, so I hired him and he's impressed me since. It’s been three years now."

"Can I unhire him?"

Hector laughed, though it was laced with shortness of breath. "That's not a real word, and you know it. I'd rather you didn't, he needs this job. And the stability of it. I think he may not have such a good home life."

Carlos wanted to sympathize, he really did. But for good measure, he said, "Well, if he continues to behave oddly around me, I will have to fire him. I hate distractions, and I hate racism."

"I know you do. I'll ask him later, like I said. Now let’s get down to business."

Three hours later, Carlos knew everything he needed to carry Hector's job. He already knew Nightingvale University brick by brick, and all he needed was a tour of the new, state-of-the-art genetics lab and revamped planetarium. He met a few new professors and students, as well as the paranoid lab rats.

Hector was exhausted by the end of the day. Carlos drove him home in Hector’s own car, perfectly happy to call a cab back to the University. Edith invited him to stay for dinner, and of course, Carlos accepted in order to spend time with the people he considered surrogate guardian angels.

In the days that followed, both Carlos and Cecil packed and cleaned Hector's office and Cecil drove it all back and forth from the school to his home. Cecil kept his distance from Carlos, who tried to have a conversation with him. Cecil merely nodded or gave short answers, then fled when he could.

Carlos was prepared to fire the brat when Hector suddenly died in his sleep. Too heartbroken by the sudden yet expected loss, both Carlos and Cecil maintained their boundaries until after the funeral. Both had their reasons for mourning Hector.

The funeral was full of people , from famous scientific writers and documentary film makers, to people from various cultures. Hell, Stephen Hawking, Bill Nye and Carl Sagan were there. Carlos wouldn't have been surprised if Tesla himself rose from the dead to see Doctor Bettencourt off into his next adventure.

Cecil was the quietest person at the funeral. He cried, oh yes, but his silent tears were an indicator that he truly respected and cared about the doctor. Carlos couldn't bring himself to fire the young man when Cecil gently assisted Edith to the car, hilding her hand as she slowly and shakily entered into the passenger seat, Dorothy waiting in the driver. Carlos followed to kiss Edith goodbye before returning home. He promised he'd call her later to make sure she was all right.

Then he spent the next three days sobbing like a lost, terrified child.

\--------------------

A week later, Carlos called Cecil into Hector's...no, his office. Cecil entered meekly, shoulders hunched. He stood awkwardly in front of the desk before Carlos asked him to sit. He took a moment to look the kid over. Purple hair, eyebrows dyed as well. No way of telling his natural hair color. Purple tattoos danced across Cecil’s arms, and Carlos even saw hints of more licking Cecil’s neck and shoulders. He wondered if there were more hiding beneath fabric. Cecil's bone structure spoke of Greek islands and Irish hills, but there was no way of knowing. Carlos didn’t care enough to ask.

"Cecil," he began in his most practiced, stern voice, "I'm very concerned. I'm going to be honest. I planned to fire you after Hector…left. But I now understand that he was important to you, so you may stay. However, it's extremely important you and I get along. Since we met, you've not made eye contact, you avoid conversation with me. To be frank it comes across as racist. And I have no tolerance for racism. My skin doesn’t define me."

"I'm not racist," Cecil mumbled.

"Then what is going on?"

Cecil opened his mouth, but the answer got stuck in his throat. He paused, then said, "I'm shy."

"I think that's a lie," Carlos argued. "But I don't care. I expect you to continue doing your job and making the effort to converse with and answer me when needed. I will not hesitate to fire you if this can't be achieved."

"Okay," Cecil said with a shrug.

Carlos blinked. "That's it? ‘Okay’?"

"Yes."

Carlos leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through black hair. "Kid, come on. Fight with me. Tell me I'm wrong.”

Cecil started to sweat nervously. He shook his head. "No, sir."

"Why not?"

Cecil frowned, absorbing the tense pause between them. Then he said, "Should I just quit?"

Carlos stared, jaw dropped. "I don't-what? Do you want this job or not, Cecil?"

The journalism student nodded as he played with his hands. "I do. But I also want to be left alone. I'll do what needs to be done, but I'd rather...I need to keep my distance. I can’t say why."

Carlos groaned internally. "Fine. Whatever. That's our relationship then. You stay out of my way, I stay out of yours. Here's my number. I'm going to just text you when I need something. I expect you to pay attention constantly, even if you’re in class. Stay where you’re needed, but then do my errands when you have free time. I’ve already notified your professors to let me know if you’re failing your classes. I refuse to employ lazy people."

Cecil took the perfectly written number and stuffed into his pocket, then said another passive "Okay."

Carlos had to resist slamming his head onto the desk. "Jesus almighty. Cecil. Get me a coffee please. Black. Just...god. Wow."

Cecil left immediately to retrieve the coffee and scurried back. He set it down on the desk and turned to leave, but Carlos, still annoyed and frustrated, reached out and grabbed his wrist in only an innocent attempt to just talk to the kid, perhaps reason with him, or rescue Cecil the way Hector had rescued himself. Cecil screamed as though his entire arm had been ripped clean off. Carlos released him immediately.

"I....I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you..." Carlos suddenly realized the purple tattoos on Cecil’s arms were hiding something under busy ink. He forced himself to look away from them. "…I just hope that we can get along. And if you feel comfortable, maybe one day we can talk about whatever it is blocking me from you."

"No," Cecil squeaked, and he raced out. Carlos dropped into his seat and sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated and a little worried. He wished Hector was there to help him know what to do. Hector would have known what to do. 

Carlos resisted the urge to pour the coffee over his own head, though he was sure it would have triggered some form of grown-up wisdom he didn't yet know he had.


	3. Three

The semester began quietly, as many science major students were still distraught by the death of Doctor Bettencourt. It was known that he was a well-loved man, who gave every inch of himself to the community and his students. Carlos was stern but careful around the young minds, giving them extensions and extra help as often as he they needed it.

He and Cecil communicated only by short, quick texts. They saw each other only as necessary, much of which was spent delivering coffee, documents and equipment from one place to another. When Cecil did deliver materials or handed in piles of xerox’d papers, he simply placed them on a separate table meant for course studies, while Carlos either thanked him stiffly or asked him to do another task, all which Cecil did without a word. The only times he did speak were to ask for specifications when he wasn’t sure what Carlos requested.

One late Thursday afternoon, after teaching a brutal pig dissection lesson to squeamish freshman, Carlos texted Cecil and asked him to pick up a few boxes of latex gloves from the pharmacy. He received no reply for an hour. He tried again. Nothing. After dinner at 6:45, Carlos, frustrated and ready to fire the kid, made a phone call. But Cecil didn't answer. Instead, a man with a deep, threatening voice and thick Hispanic accent did.

" _Who the fuck is this_?" the man sneered.

Carlos almost didn't answer, shocked by the heavy voice. Then he forced it out. "I...my name is Carlos. I'm calling for Cecil?"

" _What, you his faggot boyfriend? I told him he ain’t allowed to have no faggots calling him._ ” The man was terribly hostile.

"No," Carlos hissed through his teeth. " I'm his employer at Nightingvale University. Is he available to talk?"

The man snorted condescendingly. " _You telling me you his boss, but you don't know where he is? You is a liar, Carlos. I know you his fag boyfriend_."

Carlos felt his face heating up in fury. How dare this man accuse him of sleeping with Cecil? Who did this beast of a man think he was? "Sir, I need him to retrieve a few items for the lab. That's all. It's his job, and I'd like for him to do it."

" _He doing his little shitty radio show, man. You want him, go find him. But don't go all fag on him, you hear me? I’ll rip your tiny prick off_."

Carlos hung up without replying. He was shaking with rage. Was this why Cecil was so nervous all the time? He decided it was time they talked it out and got him the help he needed, if indeed he needed help. Stuffing the phone into his pocket, Carlos marched towards the communications department three buildings away.

He passed a group of students sitting in the cafe, eerily silent as they sat still around a radio. Carlos paused and listened to an incredible, soothing voice.

" _....angels claimed to be all knowing. All seeing. All feeling. But they never once claimed to be all loving. Old Janitor Josie says that despite their sudden appearance to her in the locker room, they have yet to be seen by anyone else. Perhaps they are all around us, Nightingvale. And now, the weather_."

Carlos expected to hear a recap of the day’s forecast and a prediction for tomorrow, but suddenly, the radio sang out a sweet tune, which, he wouldn't know, was sung by Theatre Freshman Tamika Flynn. He tapped an engrossed student on the shoulder, who shushed him needlessly. She was a lovely young woman, wearing a warm color themed headscarf. She wore a bracelet that spelled out her name. Dana. Carlos recalled Hector saying Cecil had a friend named Dana. Fairly certain she would knew, Carlos mouthed the words,

"Where's Cecil?" Dana pointed to a door, made her fingers walk up a flight of stairs (5, she indicated), then pointed left-right-right-left.

"Ooooookay," he said. "Thanks?"

"Shhh!" hissed the group, Dana included.

Carlos speed-walked for the stairs, eager to escape from their hypnotized eyes. By the third flight, he was out of breath and vowed to lose some weight. He was so close, so he kept pushing. Upstairs, he gasped. The ceiling was made of tinted glass. Half of the walls were glass, where he could see the entire campus if he walked around. The floor was empty, save for him and one lit room down the hall. The door was open. Carlos could hear Cecil's voice traveling through the abandoned space. He walked quietly towards it, careful to make not even a squeak of sound.

" _-suppose we'll never know. Good night, Nightingvale. Good night_."

Carlos heard the sound of multiple buttons being flipped off. A cracking back, and a sigh.

"Cecil?" He called gently. The response was a terrified yell and a slamming door. Cecil locked it before Carlos had a chance to barrel through.

"What are you doing here!?" Cecil yelled through the glass pane mostly covered by a faded NPR poster from 2007, torn between fear and anger. There was a tiny sliver of uncovered glass for them to watch the other’s movements, but instead of scaring Cecil further by trying to peer through, Carlos stood tall and spoke to the poster. He could see Cecil’s torso moving around nervously.

"I-" Carlos hadn’t quite planned out his answer. "I just...wanted to talk to you?"

Cecil groaned. "God, just fire me, okay? Just do it. You've wanted to ever since you took Hector's job." He sounded terribly bitter.

"Yes, I did," Carlos snapped. "You were distant and really weird. But I think I understand what's wrong. I called your phone today, and-"

"When?” Cecil interrupted. “I never heard it ring. Are you sure you called the right-oh god. Who answered?"

"A very angry, homophobic, moronic man," Carlos answered.

"Fuck," Cecil muttered. "He probably took the car too. Goddammit."

"Who is he?" Carlos asked, his voice lowering to the type of tone mothers take when their bullied child comes home crying.

Cecil slumped into his seat and hid his face in his hands. "My fucking stepdad. He sometimes steals my car and phone to piss me off. He, uh. He makes a shit ton of money selling crack."

Carlos could feel the color draining from his face. His blood ran cold. "Oh god. Cecil, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not your business."

"Yeah, well, it is now. You're not going back there, Cecil."

"I have to, Carlos."

“Why?” Carlos demanded.

Cecil glared at the poster, then scoffed. “You ever have to worry about someone killing your family? And everything weighs on your shoulders? Do you go home to a heroin-addicted mom every night, Carlos? Because I do. That’s why I have to go back, even if I don’t want to.”

Carlos felt a sob clawing at his throat. He felt nothing but pity for the young man. "Cecil, I'm so sorry. I wish I'd known. Listen, the sofa at my place pulls out into a bed. But I won't let you go home. Not tonight at least. I’m sure your mom will be okay for one night.”

"Are you saying that Jorge didn't call you a faggot over the phone?"

"He did, but--"

"I can't sleep anywhere but there, Carlos. He accuses me of seeing boyfriends and promises to murder them. I haven't been in a relationship in years. Just. If you have to do anything, I could use a cab." His tone was forceful and firm. There was no arguing with Cecil.

But Carlos would have none of it. He felt responsible for the journalism student’s well-being. "No. Please, let me drive you home. I promise I won't take you anywhere else."

"I don't trust you. The answer is no."

"Why not? Cecil, I don't want to hurt you. I promise."

Cecil shook his head, then said, "Carlos, listen. I'm sorry to be this person, and I hate to say this, but...I don't trust Hispanic people. Especially men. Jorge looks a lot like you, okay? He's not as put together, and he isn't smart at all, but I look at you and I see him. He beats me, he's tried to get me addicted to heroin. I've been locked in closets and he once tried to stab me. Most of his friends are Hispanic too. They're no better."

"Cecil, that's...um. All right, yes. It sounds racist and gross, but for once, I don’t care. It's perfectly normal to feel afraid, but you have to know that I'm not like that. Not all Hispanic people are like that. They're just people, trying to get along in life. Jorge and his friends are just that: Jorge and his friends. They aren't me. They aren't other Hispanic students. They aren't the majority. Please don’t lump me in the with the handful of bad guys. I mean, your best friend is a girl from the Middle East, right? Don’t you find it offensive when people say all Middle Eastern people are terrorists?”

Cecil didn’t say anything, but he certainly shrugged with a nod.

Carlos continued. “I’m not a drug lord, Cecil. Jorge and I are very different men. I'm so sorry that this is why you were so distant. I want to help you. I promise."

"I don't...I can't, Carlos."

"Please let me drive you home. That's all. Hector would have done it."

"Don't talk to me about Hector," Cecil barked. "That man was the only lifeline I had. He gave me a job when no one else would. And now he's gone. I feel so lost without him."

Carlos sighed. "I do too, Cecil. He saved my life."

"He did? How?"

The older man could feel embarrassed heat against the back of his neck. It wasn’t exactly his proudest moment, and he hated to talk about it. But if it was going to pave a path to Cecil, then so be it.

"I was a homeless alcoholic on my way to commit suicide. He stopped me and helped me get into this school. I get it, I know how it feels to lose the one person who cares. And I know what it's like to feel alone. Let me help, even if it’s by driving you home."

Cecil frowned. "You won't take me to the police?"

"No. Just home. Your home."

Cecil opened the door slowly. "Well all right. But the minute I think you're taking me elsewhere, I will barrel roll out of your car."

"Jesus, kid. Have you done that before?"

"A few times. Just for practice."

Carlos stepped away from the door and let Cecil out. The 25-year-old switched off lights and other switches, then locked the door. Cecil led the way back to the stairs, but then turned sharply towards an elevator.

"Wait, that wasn't downstairs," Carlos said, more than surprised.

"It's not available on the first floor," Cecil explained. "Too many outsiders were riding it to use our sensitive equipment, so the department just redid the wall to hide it. The elevator still passes the first floor to go to the basement. We’ll get off on the second and walk from there."

They stepped into the large eerie elevator. Cecil hit the second floor button and the machine gave a great creak. Carlos gripped for a railing, but there was none. Cecil didn't seem to notice how ancient the elevator was. They traveled down until the machine came to a near sudden stop and let them out. Carlos could feel his stomach in his knees, and his knees in his toes. They walked out, Carlos trying to regain his balance, and Cecil followed him to his car. A few listeners stopped to high-five him on another excellent show. Dana and Cecil exchanged a tight hug and a quick promise from her to call him later. He quickly warned her against the idea, and she seemed to understand what he meant.

Carlos was parked in the teacher lot two buildings and a tennis court away. Carlos pointed to his red jeep and said, "You can sit anywhere you like." Cecil took the passenger seat, though he wanted to take the driver.

"There's no possibility I could drive, is there?" he asked, naïvely hopeful Carlos would give him the wheel.

"No," Carlos answered sternly. "Where's your house?"

Cecil gave the address and Carlos tapped it into his GPS. When the directions came up, Carlos gasped. "You didn't say you lived 90 minutes away."

"Can I just call a cab now?" Cecil begged. "It'll be easier."

"That's too expensive. No, I'll drive. We can finally talk, too. I think we need to really clear some air."

Cecil groaned inwardly and climbed into the jeep, slumping slightly. Carlos followed suit, taking care to notice just how miserable Cecil looked. The poor kid must have never had anyone care about him, and it clearly bothered him that now, the one who did looked like the man who made his life a living hell.

Carlos started the car and drove out of the lot in silence, waiting until they hit the highway to talk. Only the radio hummed diligently.

"Look," Carlos began minutes after they merged onto the slowly dwindling highway, "I get it. I was once an angry kid too. Hell, I was a pathetic, angry thirty-something year old. I get it, Cecil. Maybe I wasn't abused by a drug dealer, but I do know how it feels to be unwanted."

"It's not that," Cecil argued. "It's that you want to be involved in my life. You want to save me for some weird reason and it...it just really freaks me out."

"Why? Aren't you glad I care about your safety?"

"I miss Hector. I miss him because I could take care of him," Cecil answered cryptically. "I don't deserve to be worried about, especially not by the guy who had to take his job."

"Do you resent me, Cecil?" Carlos asked quietly. "Do you feel as though Hector abandoned you and left me to pick up the mess you’d become? Do you feel as though he waited to die until I took his job?”

Cecil stared, then smiled. “Wow. That was poetic. You should write some stuff for the radio." He paused when he saw the worried look on Carlos' face. "No, I don't resent you. You confuse me, mostly. Listen, what I tell you, you can't repeat."

"Stop right there," Carlos interrupted. "Cecil, if you tell me something dangerous, or unsanitary, I have to report it. It's the law. So whatever you say, I may need to get you help. That said, I would prefer you say it, so I can get you the help you need."

Cecil rolled his eyes. "Ha. Okay. You think I'm about to tell you about suicide or drugs, huh. No, Carlos. This is....Jesus fuck. It’s not difficult. It's not dangerous. It's just stupid. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone, got it?”

Carlos pressed the child-lock on the doors as an anxious precaution. “No, I don’t ‘got it’. Are you planning to kill your stepdad? Are you planning to hurt yourself, or run away?”

“Even if I did run away, I’m 25. I’m a legal adult. God.” Cecil ran a hand through his purple hair and sighed, though there was the slight hint of a chuckle under it. “Okay, I should just say it. Carlos, you did scare me when we first met. I walked into the office and I swear to god I thought Jorge was in the room, chatting it up with Hector. I really did. That’s the truth. I forced myself to do a double take, and when I looked again, I saw you. Not Jorge, just you. And, I don’t know, I guess something just exploded inside me. I think it was the hair that did it.”

“Did what?”

Cecil turned his head to glance at the professor. “I fell in love instantly.”

Carlos slammed the brake as he pulled over onto the shoulder. “Jesus. CHRIST. What?” His eyes were wide, wild. So terribly shocked. Cecil shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I know this is messed up. You had me spooked. Part of me wanted to hate you simply because of who you reminded me of. But the rest of me disagreed.”

“Do I actually look like Jorge?” Carlos breathed heavily. “Show me a picture.”

“My phone’s gone. He stole it, remember?”

“Do you have any photos on your Facebook?”

“Yes?”

Carlos whipped out his Smartphone and shoved it in Cecil’s face. “Log in and find me a picture. NOW.” The purple haired man did so gladly, scrolled through his mother’s sloppy page, littered with Blingee photos, and quickly found a photo. He handed the phone back to Carlos, who’s tense shoulders relaxed greatly. “Cecil, this guy looks nothing like me. Maybe the skin tone, but that’s it. He’s bald. He’s overweight. And…is that a grease stain on his boxers? God, thanks for the comparison.”

Cecil shrugged again. Carlos ran a hand down his face. He needed a minute. He reached over into the glove compartment and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Cecil made a face. “You smoke? I would have thought that as an educated man, you would know better.”

“Only when I really need one,” Carlos mumbled as he lit the little bundle of cancer and puffed. “Fuck.” He took the keys and stepped out of the car to lean against it. Cecil was suddenly aware of just how distressed Carlos was, and he stepped out and walked around to meet him.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Carlos was annoyed. “No. No, I’m so incredibly far from okay it’s not funny. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you. What’s the responsible thing to do?” When Cecil didn’t answer, he sighed and offered a cigarette, which was accepted graciously.

Cecil leaned back against the car and looked up at the purpling sky. It was growing darker, and stars started to show themselves over the slowly dwindling treetops. Pretty soon, they would be driving into the desert, where the highway was long and crowded with strip malls, neon lights and truck stops. Carlos’ eyebrows furrowed intensely. His face was carved by deep lines.

“I’m sorry,” Cecil offered as he took a drag. “But I said what I needed to say. I hated and loved you at the same time. I was afraid and wanted to be near you all the time. I decided it was inappropriate to act upon the latter, so I kept my distance. I reminded myself of what Jorge was capable of, and pretended you were the same. It kept me safe. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Carlos said with a hint of annoyance. “Don’t be sorry. I’m acting like a child. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, Cecil. I thought you hated me completely and unforgivably. I thought I was going to have to fire you. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I didn’t want to,” Cecil answered. “Besides, I doubt you’d have believed me. You would have fired me right there. Don’t tell me otherwise, Carlos.”

“I won’t,” he responded, though he absolutely agreed. “So…now what?”

“What do you mean?” Cecil made a face. “Now you take me back home and drive away thinking about contacting the police.”

“No, I can’t,” Carlos said. “Cecil, you’re not going back there. Get back in the car. I refuse to take you to a drug dealer. What if he hurts you?”

Cecil chuckled joylessly. “Okay, man. Here, let me show you something.” He held up his arm. “See these tattoos? Purple is my favorite color, and a good thing too. They’re dark enough to cover up a lot of scars, Carlos.” The darker man took the arm and held his phone’s flashlight over it to inspect the inches of Lovecraftian designs decorating Cecil.

“He’s burned, cut, beaten, and literally broken me,” Cecil explained. “I’ve had so many broken bones in my life. He stopped breaking them when I started school here, because he knew someone would notice. But as a kid, he didn’t care. Told everyone I got into fights at school and did stupid shit with friends. But under the tats are scars as far as the eye can see. It sucks, but it’s part of my life. I’m…I can handle it.”

Unable to control himself, Carlos whipped around and gripped Cecil’s shoulders. “No. I hate that. You can’t just tell people that someone at home is harming you, and treat it like it’s no big deal. That’s horrible, Cecil. I can’t let you go there because I don’t want you to go there. You need someone to protect you, I can see it now. This was why Hector didn’t want me to fire you. He knew something was wrong. He just didn’t know enough to do anything about it. But I do, and I will. Please, just stay at my place until we can find you an apartment. I’ll help you pay it for the first three months if you need me to.”

Cecil raised an eyebrow. “Carlos, no. That’s a terrible idea. I have to go home.”

“Why?” Carlos yelled. “Why do you have to?”

“Because…Carlos, take me home. Please.”

“Tell me why.”

Cecil shuddered. Carlos’ hands were tightening around his shoulders.

“Because…because I’m on probation, okay? I was arrested years ago for having drugs on me. Not on purpose, mind you. Jorge planted them so I could get in trouble. When I did, I was considered a minor, but now I’m on probation till I’m 30. If I don’t go home tonight, Jorge can call the police, have me arrested and this time, tossed in jail for disobeying a court ordered rule. I’m required to be home every night by midnight. It’s still early, but I don’t want to push it.”

“Then why did he take your car?”

“To get me in trouble. Just another stupid punishment. Or to teach me a lesson about something I don’t know I’m being blamed for. All three, most likely.” Carlos searched Cecil’s face for a sign that he was terribly depressed, but the young man seemed stoic and accepting of his current situation.

“Cecil, I’m so sorry. But I can’t—what would happen if I called the police myself and told them you had to spend the night? What if I said it was for work?”

“I doubt they would care.”

“Which town are you being monitored in?”

“Desert Bluffs. Where the college kids smoke all day to feel better about their rich parents controlling their lives. At least, that’s what my cousin Kevin does all day. Kid’s so high all the time he forgets his own parents are verbally abusive.”

Carlos frowned. “That’s a very nice place to live. I thought you lived in—“

“Oh, I do live in poverty,” Cecil interrupted. “Jorge owns a huge house, but I’m treated like trash. Like a real life Harry Potter. I had to hide a mini fridge in my closet just to be able to eat. The house is used to make meth. It’s more of a lab than a home. Just a few rooms in the front are furnished nicely and make it seem homey enough to keep the fuzz off his back.”

Carlos dropped and hugged Cecil’s knees, much to the younger man’s surprise. “Please don’t make me take you back there, Cecil. Please, let me just call the police. Let me save you.”

Cecil tried not to let his voice crack, but he failed. He settled his scarred hands upon the professor’s shoulders and said quietly, “Carlos, I don’t understand. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, like always. It’s not like he’s going to kill me tonight. He’s dumb, but not that dumb.”

“It’s more than that,” Carlos cried. “Cecil, I care about you! Those tattoos give me a reason to care! I feel like...I feel the way Hector must have felt when he found me. You're the difference I want to make in the world."

Cecil responded by reaching down and gently cupping Carlos' face with his strong hands. He lifted the man’s face just enough to bend over and press a kiss to his forehead. Unable to stand it, Carlos returned to his feet and wrapped his arms around Cecil, pressing a deep kiss against his lips.

"How did you do that?" He asked quietly. "How did you make me fall in love with you?"

"I don't know," Cecil replied. "As far as I can tell, it was an accident. Do you mean it?"

"I....yes," Carlos answered quietly. He was stunned by what he was saying and feeling. He had hated Cecil. Despised the awkward and frustrating gap between them! How had Cecil found a way to his heart? He didn't care, not at that moment. He had another concern to deal with.

"Cecil," he said quietly, "I'm going to call the cops in your town. It doesn't hurt to ask."

He felt the journalist’s fingers grip his shoulder blades. "But-"

"If they are against it, I will inform them I'm taking you home. It's not late yet. We have time."

Carlos didn’t remove himself from his new love, but he did reach into his pocket and retrieve his phone. Taking a quick moment to Google the Desert Bluffs police number, he pressed the device to his ear and waited. A shrill, ugly sound traveled into his canal, for at least twenty seconds before someone picked up the phone.

"~ _Hello_!~" greeted a disgustingly cheery voice. "~ _Thank you for calling the Desert Bluffs Police office! My name is Officer Stan, how may I help you?~_ "

Carlos, taken by surprise at the overjoyed tone in the officer’s voice, answered, "Um, hi. I'm calling on behalf of Cecil Palmer. He's my employee at Nightingvale University, and I understand he needs to be home at a specific time. I'm calling to ask permission to keep him overnight for a project."

"~ _Let me look him up for you!~_ " Carlos heard the tak-tak-takking of keys. He was surprised the officer was even going to find Cecil’s file for him. Wasn’t that sort of thing meant to be confidential?

Finally the officer said, "~ _Hmmm. Seems Cecil was on probation for some time_.~"

"Yes, I know, which is why-"

"~ _He's been off probation for eight months. Isn’t that swell_?~"

"....I'm sorry?"

"~ _Yes! He should have received a letter. Is he there? I’d like to congratulate him_!~"

Carlos hesitantly handed Cecil the phone, who took it nervously and spoke. And as the cop congratulated him on his apparent achievement, Cecil's face burned red. He hung up with a quick 'thank you', then shouted,

"That motherfucking shitstain! He's been lying to me for eight fucking months!"

"What?" Carlos was bewildered.

"Jorge!" Cecil shrieked. "Turns out I was taken off probation early for good behavior! He didn't tell me! I could have moved out and lived in my car this whole goddamn time! Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.” Cecil sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Carlos, I want to go home, get my shit and leave. Can you do that for me? Please?"

"I....I don't know, Cecil. I doubt he'd let you go without a fight."

"I'm a legal adult. I'm 25! If he calls the cops, they'll find his meth lab. If he's smart, he won't fight us."

"Then what's stopping him from killing us?"

"Oh.” Cecil gave the question some serious thought. “Um. Nothing, I guess. Fuck. Fine. You know what, I have nothing of value there anyway. Just some clothes, but I can buy more at the Goodwill. Carlos, may I stay with you tonight?"

Carlos felt the lump of panic and worry in his chest flatten into warm relief. "Yes, of course. I only offered ten times. Come on, Cecil. Let's go home."

"Is there whiskey at home?"

Carlos tensed up. "No. There's no alcohol there."

"I need a drink,” Cecil muttered. “There's a Mighty LiquorLand three miles down the road."

Carlos frowned. " I'm not sure that's a good idea, Cecil. You shouldn't drown your problems like that."

Cecil frowned back and crossed his arms while glaring across the length of asphalt. "I just need a drink or two. A bottle of Jack will suffice." The older man cringed as his memory sped towards Hector pouring that very same liquid over his head.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic," Carlos confessed quickly, eager to avoid the liquor store at all costs. It wasn’t himself he was worried for.

"Oh. Oh, Carlos," Cecil gasped, his eyes truly apologetic. He grasped Carlos’ hands tightly. "I'm sorry, I wasn’t thinking. We don't have to stop anywhere. I just...I'm sorry."

Carlos shook his head, pretending to be okay. But he wasn't. This wasn’t okay. He decided to open his mouth and voice his concern. God, he was growing increasingly more worried for the young man.

"Actually, Cecil, now I'm extra concerned. Is that what you turn to when you're upset and angry? Are you an alcoholic? Do I need to consider rehab for you?"

"No," Cecil growled. " I'm just very pissed off, Carlos. I could have been free a long time ago. What a piece of garbage. Ugh, _Jorge_. I'm tired, Carlos. Let's go home. Please?"

Carlos let his shoulders drop. “Very well. But Cecil, don’t think for a minute that just because we’re closer now than we ever were, I won’t act as a guardian if I need to. I care about you and I reciprocate your feelings, but I will be your worst enemy the minute I suspect you of wanting to harm yourself, or drown your sorrows. That’s not going to fly in my home.”

Cecil was stunned silent for longer than Carlos had expected. There was a very brief flash of anger on Cecil’s young face, but it was quickly replaced with a forced, lopsided grin.

“Okay, boss man. You have nothing to fear.”

Carlos opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. The forced grin on Cecil’s face was more than enough warning to simply drop it. They settled back into the car and the older man restarted it, then drove off the shoulder and back onto the increasingly empty highway.


	4. Four

Carlos lived three cities away, which translated into forty-five minutes by highway. Cecil leaned his head against the window, big eyes stargazing as they rushed past exit after exit. The radio quietly played forgotten 80s tunes, lost in the ocean of popular overplayed songs.

Carlos tapped his hands absently against the steering wheel to a song he’d never heard before, while sneaking worried glances at the young man next to him. He wanted to say something, anything, but he feared another outburst. If they had to talk, it could wait to see the morning.

The car finally reached its final exit, and Carlos drove off the road and into his little city, where the nightlife was already jumping into gear. Cecil’s eyes widened in awe at hundreds of cafes and bars opening their doors to happy, hollering partygoers, and he rolled down the window to hear music pulsing from one establishment to the next.

“Cecil?” Carlos asked gently. “Are you okay?”

“This is just…wow,” Cecil answered. “I haven’t seen anything like this in such a long time. It’s beautiful.”

“Your curfew was midnight, fairly late for probation. You didn’t find time to go out?”

“No,” Cecil answered frumpily. “I’m always busy, Carlos. I work, have homework and need to write for my show, then air it live. And then I have my long drive, which sucks even harder because of traffic. I’m usually up earlier than most people because I jump on the highway for school before 5 am.” He sat back in his seat, but his face tilted towards the world outside. “That’s been my life. I go out once in a while, but most bars don’t open till 10. Desert Bluffs doesn’t have any good bars for me to haunt, either. It’s a dry town, and Jorge rummages through my shit to make sure I don’t steal from him. If he found booze, he’d just assume I took it from him. So…no. I don’t go out. I can’t even party alone in my room.”

“Oh. I’m…I’m sorry to hear that, Cecil,” Carlos offered. “That’s awful, that’s no way for anyone to live. God. Your life is dedicated to making sure others are getting what they want. I’m sorry if I ever acted like a shithead to you.”

“It’s nothing,” Cecil answered with a dismissive wave. “Honestly, your demands were never a huge pain. Not even Hector’s were. Mostly it’s just juggling life between the many obligations. My friends are getting angry with me, too. They say I’m never around for them. Steve and I had a huge fight last week over it.”

“I’m sor—“

“Stop saying you’re sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. Steve was being a jerk, that’s all there is to it. We’re fighting now, but I’m sure it’ll blow over in a month.”

“A month?”

Cecil scoffed. “He’s a fucking drama queen. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about my stupid life anyways.” 

“Well, um…” The back of Carlos’ neck grew white hot. “Um. Do you want to go out, then?" 

Cecil whipped his head around and grinned genuinely. “Are you asking me out on a date?” he asked, his deep voice rising with an excited inflection.

The older man smiled weakly. “I, uh. Yeah.”

“You’re so cute. Yes. Let’s go on a date. What’s your favorite place here? Any amazing bars you recommend?”

Carlos grimaced nervously. “Um…”

Cecil’s grin thinned out. “Oh. Oh, god. You can’t drink. Shit. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” Carlos replied a little louder than he wanted to. “I know there’s a café here that doesn’t have any booze. They have really amazing cupcakes, though. I just can’t remember where it is.”

“Use your GPS.”

“Oh. Right.” Carlos fumbled around his pocket to find his phone, but he nearly lost control of the steering. He pulled his hand out and grabbed the wheel as he swerved around another car full of teenagers, all of them screaming at the sudden ‘final destination’ moment they believed they were experiencing.

Both Carlos and Cecil’s arms swung out to catch the other protectively. Carlos pulled over and glanced in the rearview window in search of a cop, but they had gotten lucky. No one, not even the car full of frightened teenagers, came to harass them. 

He realized his hand was pressing against something, and looked over. Cecil was staring at him. Carlos lowered his arm from the young man’s chest and squeaked, “Sorry." 

“Don’t be!” Cecil half-shouted. “It’s okay, Carlos. I appreciate that you would try to protect me. It’s more than anyone else has done. You’re so nervous, you need to relax.”

“You make me sad,” Carlos suddenly admitted. “Everything you say, just makes me feel like I arrived too late for you. I’m sorry, Cecil. I wish I could have helped you sooner.”

Cecil’s face fell. “Oh. Carlos, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…fuck. Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“No!”

“But—“

“No,” Carlos argued. “It’s not a bad idea. You need someone, and I want to help you. Whatever it is you need, I will do my best to get it for you. I’m sorry I said that. It wasn’t meant to mean that I dislike you, or regret this. But…”

“…but maybe it’s not a bad thing that we just quit before we dig a deeper hole,” Cecil reasoned reluctantly. “I mean, I want this. But I don’t want to drive you back to drinking, if that’s where this could potentially be headed. Sad stories lead to sadder people, Carlos." 

“It’s not going to happen,” Carlos assured him. “What I meant was, your story is sad. You’re too young to say what you say. But that doesn’t change how I feel. Does that make more sense?”

The purple haired man nodded. “I think so. Can we not linger on it right now? I’ve already got some shit rolling around in my head, and I don’t want to add more to the fire. Give me your phone, I’ll find this cupcake haven, which we clearly need.”

Carlos reluctantly gave Cecil the phone, not sure if it was responsible to drop the subject. But Cecil was avoiding eye contact and this was enough to tell Carlos he needed to back off. Moments later, Cecil smiled and said,

“Okay, Yelp says this place is three blocks away, on Crown street. Do you know where that is, or should I put the GPS on?”

“I can find it,” Carlos assured him. He started driving again, far more cautiously this time, and found the place fairly quickly, thanks mostly to the huge, tacky neon sign that proudly proclaimed ‘SWEETY BUNS CUPCAKES ARE ARIZONA’S FAVORITE’. Once the car was parked, Carlos and Cecil made their way inside, where a strong blast of central air hit them in their faces.

Sweety Buns was packed with happy customers. Carlos, being shorter than Cecil by at least five inches, struggled to find a spot for them. Cecil saw nothing and said, “Well, I have no objections to eating on the curb.”

“I have a better idea,” Carlos answered. “Let’s go order them first.”

Twenty minutes later, after standing in line for ten of them and another eight trying to decide what they wanted, the two exited the crowded café with two lattes and a box of cupcakes. That’s right, a goddamn box. Three cupcakes each.

“God, we’re fat,” Cecil commented as they returned to the car. “I love it.”

“As do I,” Carlos laughed. “Come on, I know a really nice place we can scarf these down.”

“Lead the way!”

They drove then, for another forty minutes, where the road took them away from the buzzing nightlife and onto a dark, long road lit by occasional street lamps. Cecil’s first internal reaction was to feel nervous, suddenly wondering if he was being kidnapped until false pretenses. He truly didn’t know Carlos well enough, and it scared him that he had been so reckless to climb into a car with a man he knew mostly nothing about. But before he voiced his concern, Carlos stopped the car and said,

“We’re here.”

Cecil looked out the window and gasped in awe. Before them, the desert sprawled endlessly. The moon above lit the vast sea of cacti, interrupted by brief flashes of sand wastes. In the distance, large sandstone formations rose into the night sky, penetrating the darkness. Even further in the distance, he could see the dim light pollution from another city. High over their heads, the stars burned brightly.

“Wow,” Cecil breathed quietly. “This is beautiful.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Carlos replied. “Hector took me here years ago, when we first met.”

“Why?" 

Carlos sighed and opened the box to retrieve his first cupcake. “Well, I was having a pretty hard time. I was homesick, mostly. I missed my family, and I missed Boston. A lot, really. Arizona just wasn’t where I wanted to be, even after he’d offered me a job. One night, I stole a bottle of whiskey from his personal stash, because that was my coping mechanism. He called and threatened to fire me, and have me arrested for stealing.”

“Yikes,” Cecil muttered as he reached for his carrot cupcake. “He really said that?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have my own car yet, so I called a cab and they drove me back to his house. Half of the bottle was empty by then, but I was so ashamed of myself that I kept drinking from it. When I handed it back to Hector, he took it forcefully and told me to get into his car. He’d never sounded so angry before. I did as he said and then we just drove. He drove us to this very spot. We got out of the car, and he handed me the bottle again. ‘ _This time_ ,’ he said, ‘ _you control the whiskey. Don’t let it control you._ ’ I didn’t know what he meant. ‘ _Control it_ ,’ was all he offered. So I stared at it for a long time, not sure what he wanted me to do. He started yelling, ‘ _Goddammit Carlos, if you’re going to let a bottle of corn juice control your life, then I should just give up on you right now_!’ And that terrified me more than anything. So I opened the bottle and dumped it over the sand.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said, ‘You’re _not done yet. Go to the trunk_.’ So I did. And you know what I found? A huge box full of yet more bottles. My bottles, mind you. He’d gone through my personal, apparently badly hidden stash in my room and took every single bottle he found, full and empty. My first reaction was to be angry with him, but then, it finally clicked with me. I knew what Hector was trying to say. So I pulled the box out of the trunk, and poured each one over the dirt. When I finished, he didn’t say anything, so I put the empty bottles back in the box.”

Cecil’s eyes were wide. He still hadn’t bitten into his first cupcake, though it waited in his hand. “Wow. How many bottles?”

“Too many to count. At least twenty, I think. But we weren’t done yet. Hector watched me through the whole thing, then said, ‘ _You still aren’t done, Carlos. You haven’t taken control_.’ Of course I was surprised. I had done what was meant to be done! I asked what he wanted. ‘ _You need to take control of them, and of yourself_ ,’ he offered. ‘ _Once you have taken control, we can go home._ ’ Can you guess what he wanted, Cecil?”

Cecil shook his head. “Not in the least. I mean, you emptied them. You removed the biggest problem of all. What could he have wanted?”

Carlos licked his fingers, savoring the first cupcake. “God, these are good. I love red velvet. Okay, so after standing around like an idiot, I decided to just do something. I took a bottle and smashed it on a rock. Hector said nothing, so I did it again. I smashed each and every one of them, over rocks, on the ground, and even one on a cactus. I managed to cut my hand a few times, but I didn’t stop until they were all destroyed. When I was done, I just sort of looked at Hector and hoped I’d done right. He said, ‘ _Go into the back seat_.’ I did, and came out with a box of trash bags, a dust pan and brush. ‘ _Now clean up your mess, Carlos_.’”

“I don’t get it.”

Carlos laughed. “Neither did I. As I cleaned up the shards, he started explaining everything to me. ‘ _The alcohol_ ,’ he said, ‘ _represents your lack of self-control, Carlos. The broken bottles are pieces of your entire life, from the moment you were born, to right now. You yourself represent the action needed to take control and change your life. Every bottle you smashed tonight was a negative moment in your past. It happened, and it’s gone. The racism can’t bring you down anymore. Your depression has nothing to feed from. The fear of losing everything is gone, Carlos. All of it, gone. And you are cleaning yourself up. Throw your fears and insecurities away tonight, and never look at them again_.’”

Cecil was silent as he listened to Carlos’ story. Then, he looked out the window to search for any glass shards that may not have been cleared away. Carlos smiled.

“You won’t find any. He made sure I cleaned up every last piece. We were here for hours.”

“What happened afterwards?”

Carlos leaned back in his seat and sighed with a nostalgic smile. “Well, we just kind of sat outside for a while. It was a quiet night, save for my little bottle smashing performance. Hector eventually started to talk to me, and asked questions that may have changed my life. I knew from that night on, Hector wasn’t just a good Samaritan looking to help young people. He was like, my savior. I’m not religious in the least, but if there is a god, then Hector was one of its angels.”

Cecil’s carrot cupcake still sat in his hand, while the young man himself slumped back in his seat, not daring to remove his gaze from Carlos. The professor glanced at him.

“Everything all right, Cecil? You looked a bit dazed.”

Cecil frowned. “Hector cared about you a lot,” he answered quietly. “He always talked about you. I saw your photos on the walls, and I thought you were beautiful. I never could have imagined someone so perfect had such a sad history.” His hand trailed to Carlos’ and squeezed gently. “I’m glad he saved you.”

Carlos smiled tightly. “I’m glad we met, Cecil. As Hector saved me, I want to save you. You deserve it.”

Cecil’s cheeks burned red, and he looked away to avoid being seen so embarrassed. Carlos was having none of it. He reached over and gently grasped Cecil’s chin, turning him back.

“I know this is hard,” Carlos offered. “I do. I felt the same way when Hector came into my life. You must be feeling nervous, like you could disappoint me at any time. But you won’t. You’ve already taken a huge step tonight, Cecil. You decided to not go back to that house. That must have been a very difficult decision for you. But you did it.”

“But only because I found out my probation was cut short.”

“Maybe so, but you’ve done a brave thing.” Carlos leaned in and pressed a kiss to Cecil’s cheek. “And that’s the first step, Cecil. Being brave when everything else terrifies you.”

The younger man pressed into the kiss, finally smiling against Carlos’ lips. The professor tasted like sugar.

“I just needed a push,” he whispered against Carlos’s mouth.

“I know,” Carlos whispered as he pulled Cecil into his arms.


End file.
